


I Need Another Chance to Live

by AudreyRose



Series: Angels and Demons [1]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angels, M/M, Wingfic, angel au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2015-09-17
Packaged: 2017-12-14 16:24:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/838930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AudreyRose/pseuds/AudreyRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knew he should, but he couldn't bring himself to fight anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based slightly off of a photoset I found over on tumblr ages ago. I've had this written for quite a while I just was having problems coming up with a title I liked. This like most of my work is un-betaed so if you see any mistakes let me know. So here it is, and I hope you all like it.

Clint swallowed as he was grabbed from behind, he should fight. Tried to, but he couldn't make himself even struggle. Breath on the back of his neck made a shiver run through him and he whined.

"Calm now, little Uriel," his blood went ice cold at the all too familiar voice. He wanted to pull away, but he went slack in the arms that held him up. A chuckle near his ear, a quick nip at the cartilage. "You never quite were the match for my silver tongue, were you? My little hawk," he pulled Clint flush against him, drawing a whimper.

"Loki," he felt tired, chilled at the raven haired ones touch. "Lucifer, don't, I can't," he attempted to argue but there was already a bright light and the brief feeling of floating. Then gravity hit him again and he fell to the ground as he was released.

That cold touch always left him feeling drained, like every bit of life was sucked out of him. He groaned and tried to stand, only to be stopped by a cane on his shoulder.

"On your knees, little hawk," green eyes sparkled with something the archer didn't want to think about. The blonde let a quiet whimper pass his lips as he struggled up to his knees. "That's where you belong you know, brother," he hissed, crouching before him. "My pet, my lover," he added more quietly before straightening. "You will always be mine."

"I am my own being, Lucifer," he hissed out making the other angel laugh. "I'm not as strong as you, or even the others," he swallowed, gray blue eyes met those green. "But I have my strengths, just as you have your weaknesses."

"But you don't remember, you never do, not until it’s too late anyway," he let his long fingers tangle in the short dark blonde locks. He liked having Uriel like this, feisty even on his knees. "You always bow to me, even you must remember that," a grin as he yanked his head back.

"Fuck you," he growled trying to pull away. "I'm not a lap dog, for you to stroke and pet and get rid of when you tire of me, not this time."

"Is that what you think? That I will tire of you, my Hawk?" he lets out a quiet chuckle and releases his hair, finally taking in the kneeling angels form. His face was the same, but more mature this time around. Those stormy blue gray orbs that conveyed every little emotion. That dirty blonde hair, stood in messy spikes however. Lucifer let out a sigh.

"Your hair used to be so lovely, do you remember that? How it would fall into your eyes and you still never missed a shot?" Lucifer chuckled, letting his fingers run through his hair before circling him. "You amazed me, even then, you know?" the dark wings unfurled behind him and Clint's eyes were drawn to them.

"You always did love my wings, how I would wrap them around you and keep you close during the nights," a shiver ran through the blonde as long cool fingers pressed right between his shoulder blades. "But yours, I always thought were so beautiful," wings stretched out behind Clint and his head bowed. "How beautiful they still are," fingers ran through silver feathers drawing a moan from the archer.

"Almost as beautiful as the noises you make," Lucifer stopped and moved before Clint. Bending over him to kiss his lips gently. "Uriel."

"Don't," he tried to pull away but was stopped by the fingers in his hair. "Please, I don't," he bit down on his lip to stifle another noise as those fingers stroked his cheek.

"It is your name," he pulled him up to his feet without a struggle. "Just as you are mine," he purred, one arm wrapping around his waist.

"I don't, Loki, Luc-" the hand in his hair tightened, forcing his head back.

"I won't hesitate to hurt you, pet you know that already though, don't you?" Lucifer's silky voice lowered, sending chills through the blonde. "Remember what I did to those beautiful wings last time you tried to run?"

Clint tensed and tried to pull away. That he did remember, the pain that wrecked his form. How cold he had felt, like he was dying. "Don't," he was pulled even closer. "Not again, please?" 'How long ago,' he wondered how that had been now. It was one thing he remembered all too clearly.

A chuckled near his ear and he was released. "So you still remember," that feline grin felt like daggers in his stomach. "Dear little Uriel, it hurt me so much to do that, but you needed a reminder that you were mine."

Clint's wings folded against his back as he shivered, he felt tears on his cheeks. He hadn't even realized he was crying. He didn't want anything to do with the raven haired angel that had hurt him one too many times. But each time here he was in his claws.

"Now, now, my Hawk, there's no need to cry, for if you behave I'll have no need to hurt you."

_'Lies,'_ he thought as he was drawn back into those arms. A whimper passed his lips and he caved, his face getting buried in the familiar throat that smelled of winter, smoke and peppermint. He would never admit how he enjoyed that smell, how he _'missed'_ it even.

"Lay with me, Uriel," fingers ran through his hair, through his feathers making him shiver and gasp. "It has been so long since you've graced my bed."

Clint's eyes looked up to meet green as he slowly pulled away. He was shushed, cool fingers on his cheeks. Tears wiped away by careful thumbs.

"There we go, stop your tears, lover."

He felt himself moving, but all he remembered was that soothing voice, and those green orbs. His clothing was gone as was Lucifer's. Then he was falling back onto sinfully soft sheets. His wings sprawled out as Lucifer crawled onto the bed, his arms on either side of the archers face. His body above but never touching.

"Tell me, Uriel, what do you want of me?" Lucifer's voice was quiet as his wings stretched out behind him. He waited, his green orbs taking in tan toned flesh.

"I want you, all of you," Clint's voice was a whisper, a shiver running through him out to his pure silver wings. Clint's legs parted, allowing Lucifer in. Something in the back of his mind screamed.

Lucifer grinned, that was all he needed to hear. There were oil slick fingers at his entrance, two then three pushing in all at once drawing a pained whimper from the blonde.

"Shush, lover, my little hawk, the pain will leave quickly," he peppered kisses over his cheeks, nipped down his throat and across his shoulders.

'Lies,' he knew there would be more pain, there always was, but he never fought it. A fourth finger then he was left empty, a whine escaping his throat.

"Need you," was that Clint's voice? Already wrecked before they even started? A chuckle at his ear, hands gripping his hips, pulling them up. He felt a cool thickness, slowly filling him up, his hands fisting and unfisting in the sheets.

"Shh, I've got you," he was being pulled up, into his lap. Chests pressed together. It burned as he was stretched, a hand wiping away more tears he hadn't noticed. "Shh, it'll be better soon."

The shallow thrusts soon turned to deeper strokes and little gasps of pleasure escaped Clint's lips. He clung to Lucifer's shoulders, his back arching as a spot deep within him was stroked.

"That's it, come apart for me," he purred, hitting that spot repeatedly until he saw spots behind his eyes. Lips attacked his throat, a sharp pain and a brush of that spot. He cried out, his whole body shuddering, his wings stretching out their entire length and heat filled him.

Clint's eyes blinked open, he was curled on his side, and soft black feathers surrounded him in a gentle embrace.

"Rest now, my hawk," was breathed in his ear and he felt sleep overtake him once more.


	2. Chapter 2

Lucifer watched his little hawk sprawled on his back, his wings flat against the mattress. He couldn't imagine how that could be the least bit comfortable. Uriel, his love. He always was, no matter what he said, he always came back. The blonde shifted a bit in his sleep and the sheet the raven haired angel had covered him with was kicked off. A quiet chuckle and green eyes sparkled with amusement. He was always a rough sleeper.

"Calm my hawk," he hummed, long fingers running through hair. His eyes took in the form of the sleeping angel with a crooked smile. He always had been such a beautiful creation. Toned, sun kissed hair and skin. He had long abandoned his fiery blade for a bow and arrow. He had changed so many times, yet remained the same. Smarter than what people would have assumed, sometimes even more clever than Lucifer, Gabriel and Michael.

"Oh how I missed you, my Uriel," he kept his voice quiet as his eyes trailed over his body as the blonde stirred, gray blue eyes blinking open slowly.

"Don't call me that," he murmured, his back arching at he stretched. He watched the raven haired angel raise a brow and chuckle.

"It is your name," he hummed, his fingers trailing up and down his ribs making him shiver. Silver wings stretched out before folding against Clint's back as he sat up.

"My 'name'," he paused as Lucifer straddled him, a grin on his face. "My name is Clint, 'Loki'," he saw the grin get replaced by a frown, quickly followed by a growl.

"Don't test me, I am Lucifer, Uriel," his voice was low and dangerous as he gripped the blonde's wrists. "Don't test me, I will hurt you if you don't listen to me, follow me, bow to me."

"Don't threaten me, Lucifer, it won't end well for either of us," Clint growled back, his wings flaring back out behind him. He jerked his wrists free and met sparkling green eyes.

"You always have been so fiery, my pet," jet black wings wrapped around the pair of them. "Just like that blade you used to wield, remember those days? Oh how glorious did you look in that armor," he grinned, pulling the ruffled blonde close against him.

"I hate that blade," he grumbled, going into his arms willingly. "I prefer my bow," he sighed as fingers rubbed circled on the small of his back. He buried his face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar, comforting scent of leather, smoke and mint.

"Hush," Lucifer commanded quietly, his hand slowly creeping up between his shoulder blades. There was a feint line of a scar that was there even after centuries. "You never hated any weapon you've wielded," he pressed down between those beautiful silver wings making them flare out just so slightly.

Clint hummed as he was drawn into his lap, fingers stroking through feathers. He practically purred, as fingers raked through his feathers. "More, Lucifer," his eyes shot open at his words and the raven haired angel's eyes met his. They sparkled with what could only be described as victory.

"I will gladly give you everything you desire, my little Hawk, I always will," he smiled softly, but Clint felt like a bird caught in a cats claws.

 _'Only for a price,'_ he thought bitterly, before fingers danced down his ribs once more. A gasp passed the blondes lips and a smirk was on the others lips. _'My freedom in exchange for pleasure and pain,'_ his eyes fell shut as he coaxed into laying back. _'For love that can never truly be given to me.'_

Clint's legs were over pale shoulders as Lucifer bent him practically in half. A pained gasp was quickly captured by cool lips as he was pushed into. There was that burn of being filled once again, even though he'd been taken a few hours earlier. He whimpered as the thrusts started, his eyes screwed shut and hands fisted in sheets.

"Shh, don't cry my hawk, I want to hear your cries of pleasure," his voice wasn't strained in the least as his hips shifted. Gray blue eyes shot open as the spot was hit, his back arching up, wings flaring out. That had earned a smirk and a chuckle and he hit it again, one hand moving from holding his knee to his wings. Clint cried out, unable to even attempt to hold back his noises. Begging pleas for more and nonsense words that cause Lucifer to smirk.

"That's it my little hawk, give yourself over to me, don't fight," he purred, thrusts speeding up becoming deeper and rougher. Clint's voice grew louder and louder as the pleasure increased. He felt warmth slowly spreading from the pit of his stomach. His whimpers and cries became incoherent as he was slammed into repeatedly.

"That's it, come apart for me, this is mine, only mine," Lucifer's voice was barely strained in his ear. Clint spilled his seed with a loud cry, his entire body shuddering beneath the silver tongued angel. Lucifer smirked in satisfaction before the silver winged archer collapsed back onto the mattress, watching him with dazed eyes.

His hips started thrusting even harder, drawing little whimpers from his dear little Uriel. He came with a cry and removed himself from his hawk. Clint was trembling and couldn't pull himself together enough to even wrap his wings around himself. He felt so empty, cold and used. His legs fell to the bed, and he felt Lucifer shifting beside him. Finger's swiped through his seed, placed against his lips and he lapped at them. He was too weak to whimper or pull away as he was rolled over and urged to his hands and knees.

"Up, my lover, easy," kisses pressed between his wings and down his spine. Fingers pushed back into him, three, followed by a fourth. His arms shook and he didn't know how he was still up. He felt a sudden burning and a cry passed his lips as his arms gave out. A arm eased him down as Lucifer's wrist twisted, his hand was inside him, invasive and painful.

"St-stop please," his voice was so small and he tried to pull away. The long fingers probed and spread him before fisting and pushing down. A cry of pain, his insides clenching making it even worse. His guts felt chilled and another shift made him feel as if he was being punched in the guts. Another plea passed his lips before he passed out.

 

He awoke alone, wrapped in black sheets and aching. There was no unnaturally cool body pressed against his back and wings. He swallowed and felt a weight around his throat. His fingers moved up, finding a collar made of a metal he couldn't break. He swallowed again shifting to sit up. He heard the clinking of the chain and his stomach dropped.

He couldn't even attempt to run if he wanted to now. He pulled his knees to his chest and bowed his head, silver wings wrapping around him. Tears found themselves running down his cheeks once again, quickly followed by the darkness that was sleep and at least for now peace.


	3. Chapter 3

Clint had lost track of how long he had been here, stuck in Lucifer's grasp. Cycles of pain, sleep, comforting words that were little more than lies.

"My little Hawk, my song bird," long fingers curled in his hair. The blonde shivered and leaned into the touch. "You can be so good for me," he purred, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Clint shivered, his wings shuddering as fingers trailed between his shoulder blades. He knew the scar was there, he felt even colder when Lucifer's fingers touched it. A whine slipped past his lips and the raven haired angel chuckled.

"Sing something for me, pet, I miss your voice," he murmured, rubbing circles at the base of the blondes spine. "I think you remember, my favorite, don't you?" Lucifer's voice all but purred in his ear, a nip of teeth on his flesh. Another shiver runs through Clint, and he pulls away making Lucifer growl quietly.

"I," he pauses, swallowing thickly, opening his mouth again. "I," he bit down on his lip before nodding slightly. He's shaking, surely even Lucifer notices, his black wings wrapping around him, holding him in place.

Clint forces his eyes shut, his hands shaking as he tries to breathe. His mouth opens, but he can't get a sound to come out. He breathes in, out and again. He's terrified, his eyes open and see's that grin that sends even more shivers through him.

"Come now my bird, sing for me," his voice is a purr and Clint feels his stomach drop. He can't get his voice to work. Lucifer's cool fingers trail down his jaw to his collar. "Won't you sing for me?"

He couldn't make a sound, he was panicking. 'No, no, why?' Fingers slipped under his collar, tugging him closer. A predatory grin, like a cat that knew its pray was trapped. Clint knew as soon as that thought had passed his thoughts, that he was the pray and Lucifer was the cat. He'd know that since the start, somewhere in the back of his mind.

He swallowed as he was pulled closer, directly into the others lap. Clint shivered and tried to pull away only to be growled at.

"You won't sing for me, lover?" Lucifer's voice was colder than Clint had yet heard and he was suddenly shaking, trembling and struggling. "Such a shame," he sighed keeping his hold on the struggling blonde easily. Clint let out a yelp as he was lifted.

Forcing his eyes shut he finds his voice once more, forcing himself to sing for the raven haired angel. He pauses, letting him settle once again before continuing. He doesn't want to think what the other would have done if his voice wouldn't have worked. There's no doubt there would have been pain, possibly blood as well.

Fingers stroke down his back, soothing and chilling him in equal measures. He breathed out as the song ended, unaware of how badly his body trembled in Lucifer's arms until then. He could feel those all too green eyes on his face, breath on his throat. When his eyes forced themselves open, he met those eyes and felt chilled all the way through.

"You did well, pet, I have a reward for you," his smile was soft and Clint whined. Loki motioned for him to sit at the edge of the bed. Slowly, unsure, he pushed himself to his feet and sat on the edge of the mattress.

He kept his head down as he listened to Lucifer stand and move around the room. He glanced up seeing nothing but the pale expanse of back, black leather low on his hips and those large black wings. He was pulling a parcel out of a trunk, and the blonde tensed. He knew what it was, the only thing it could be as it was placed into his hands.

"Open it pet," Lucifer sat beside him, watching the archer carefully. He let his eyes lid as he undid the cloth wrapped around the case.

He felt a surprising warmth as his hands felt the clasps, undoing them without opening his eyes. Breathing out he opened it, his eyes finally opening. 'His bow'. It was old, solid and surprisingly well cared for. He swallowed, lifting it out of the case, fingers trailing over the old, oh so old lettering on the front. 'His name'.

He swallowed, looking to Lucifer then back to the bow in his hands. It was older now than any living thing on this earth. It was beautiful, dark wood inlaid with silver. He felt oddly more complete than he had in so long.

A slight smile passed his lips, fingers trailing over the old language that only he and the other six angels could read.

"Uriel," he breathed out before shaking his head. "I..." he looked at Lucifer again. He knew why he was given this. "What do you want me to do?"

A smirk passed the raven haired angels lips before shaking his head. "It can wait a while longer," he took it and sat it back in its case. "For now let me show you how many ways I adore you, my hawk."


	4. Chapter 4

Cool fingers traced up and down his sides, causing shivers to run through Clint's form. Warm breath on his ear, followed by a nip of teeth. He kept his eyes closed and breathing even as Lucifer straddled him, he could feel those green orbs gazing down on his face.

"My little hawk, come, look at me," he finally let his eyes open. There was a satisfied smile on the raven haired angels face, and he slipped off the blonde to stand. "It's time, come fight with me," he crossed the room, his lips twitching in a half smirk.

Clint sat up slowly, watching the way the other moved so gracefully. He watched him dress, slowly, deliberately, teasing just a bit. A white button down, tight black leather pants, heavy boots and a long leather coat.

"Come now," green eyes turned to him, sparkling with something he couldn't quite place. Clint swallowed and stood padding to where the raven haired angel stood waiting for him. Cool soft hands dressed him surprisingly gently, fingers brushing over bruises sending shivers through him.

Lucifer's gaze took him in, a black button down, snug but not as tight leather pants, a heavy vest he hadn't seen in a millennia, and the boots he'd been wearing when Lucifer brought him here.

"Come, our brothers are awaiting battle." The bow was pressed into his hands, a quiver full of arrows over his shoulder and a rough kiss that drew blood pressed to his lips.

There were only two that his eyes had landed on, that he recognized, Michael and Gabriel. Michael never seemed to age, tall, broad shoulders and strong jaw. His blonde hair was already dirty and matted with the blood of demons. His shield defecting flames and crunching bones when it met a creature. Clint cocked his head, watching him for a while. His movements precise, as always, still dangerously beautiful. He really was a perfect soldier.

Gabriel on the other hand always had to do things his own way, just like Lucifer, a quick wit and slight tongue as well. He looked older now, tired even, which is how Clint felt. He watched that intense bright light leave his palms and clear a path of demons. A slight grin tugged at his lips as he looked down at his hands.

Clint drew an arrow, his eyes focusing on Michael, aiming to slow, not kill. He breathed out and pain blossomed in the corners of his vision before going completely black.

 

When Clint comes back around he hears a quiet beeping, smells something overly sterile. He realizes he can't move and his eyes shoot open. It's too bright, he closed his eyes again. He takes in the fact that he's strapped down, wings and all to a bed. He tugs, can't move at all. He wants to scream, but there's a tube down his throat, a mask covering his nose and lips. He can't swallow, he panics and he hears high pitched beeping and footsteps.

"Uriel, relax," the voice wasn't Lucifer's, his panicked mind can't place it. The room is too bright, especially for his eyes. He struggles again, hears more footsteps.

"Move," a familiar voice, but it’s the wrong tone. Too angry. The mask and tube are removed and the blonde let's his eyes shut again. Yelling and the beeping quiets, both, fading into background noise.

"His name Uriel," that first voice is the first thing he hears when he awakes again. Clint winces inwardly, but he remembers that voice now. Michael. He takes in that he's not strapped down, but he doesn't move yet.

Clint wants to open his mouth and respond that he's not Uriel anymore. Hasn't been in a very long time, because that means he wouldn't have been against them. He wouldn't have been at Loki's side.

Uriel. The angel of human knowledge, a loyal servant, the eyes of Heaven. That is what the name describes to him. The wielder of that beautiful flaming sword. No. He gave that up a long time ago. That's not who he is anymore.

"He prefers to be called 'Clint'," he smiles at the clipped tone of a female voice that he's grown to adore. She is the only one he talks to about what's on his mind, the only one he trusts.

Natasha. That's what she goes by now. Raziel, the keeper of secrets. He's fought back to back with her so many times in the past, she's the only one he's able to fight with like that. Their movements perfect together.

"Tasha," his voice is raspy as his eyes blink open again. The room isn't so bright anymore, the lights dimmed just enough. She's beside him before he can blink. He sees the blonde soldier open his mouth, but the flame haired Natasha is above him.

"I had to knock some sense back into you, again," her voice is fond, quiet and soothing. Her hands bring a glass of water to his lips as he sits up. He drinks silently. A silent thank you in his eyes when he does look up. She nods, setting the glass back on the table.

"You rest now, we'll talk later," her voice is quiet. She glances over her shoulder at the tall blonde angel and his perfect white wings ruffle, but he nods leaving the room.

"Thank you, Tash," he touches her hand and she smiles, just slightly and she nods.

"Nothing to thank me for, just taking care of my partner," her tone is careful, but he nods and smiles just a bit. "Now rest."

"Yes ma'am," he smiles as she leaves.


	5. Chapter 5

Clint's eyes darted around the small room, he was restless, uncomfortable. He itched to get out of here, find somewhere quiet until one of the others needed him for something. He sat up, eyes skimming around for a way out, his skin felt tight, he rubbed the back of his neck. He'd already checked the door, and of course locked. He breathed out, his fingers drumming against his thigh.

Clint's lips twitched into a half smile seeing the vent above his bed, it would be a tight squeeze. He let out a quiet huff and made himself stand, eyeing the grate, estimating. He still ached, was still chilled. He felt phantom fingers trail down the side of his face and he shivered, breath speeding up. He felt like he was losing his mind, that any moment he'd be back in Lucifer's grasp. The blonde forced his eyes shut, trying to even out his breathing.

He sighed and pulled the cover off, climbing into the confined space. He breathed in, feeling calmer, less shaky as he pulls the grate back into place. He sits there in silence a few moments, letting the calmness sink into him. When he does move, he feels better, more aware, but less twitchy.

He crawls forward, as quietly as possible in the small space, that he finds rather comforting. He pushes the next grating he finds out, swings down, landing quietly in a crouch. No one is around, which throws him off guard. Clint rubs the back of his neck noticing the collar is gone. He's unsure of what he wants to do, he doesn't really want to talk to anyone, or encounter anyone for that matter, knowing Michael would probably just make him feel guiltier than he already felt.

He finds himself wandering around the floor, he let out a sigh when he ended up in a obscenely large kitchen. He probably should eat something, considering he had lost a bit of weight while being with Lucifer. He felt off guard and unsure of his place here, he knew he wasn't what they expected anymore.

Sure he could pick off anyone, anything, with his bow, but he felt Michael would want more of him. But he couldn't give him that not this time, couldn't bring himself to even name that sword. The blonde swallowed thickly, his hands were shaking as he moved, putting together a sandwich. He wasn't sure he could keep anything much down, his stomach churned, he breathed out leaning forward over the counter.

His vision swam for a moment before he forced his eyes shut, shaking his head. He felt his jaw clench and he forced himself to breathe. His arms were shaking and he let out a growl, trying to relax. Clint wasn't sure how much time he'd lost as he stood there, he felt tired, but calmer. Not like his mind and body were fighting each other anymore, he sighed as he turned around. He froze in place seeing the brunette sitting at the table, watching him curiously. Ezekiel. Clint opened his mouth but was caught off by the brunette.

"Bruce, it's Bruce," he smiled somewhat sadly and stood, offering Clint his hand to shake. Clint's eyes scanned over his face, he'd never really spent much time with the brunette, ever. Clint swallowed, taking in his appearance for a moment before taking his hand.

"Clint," he sets his plate on the table and rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. "I wasn't trying to escape," he bit his lip after the words left his mouth, he never had known what exactly to say to the angel with dark wings, not quite black touched with a hint of dark green. Bruce chuckled, looking down at his hands. He raised a brow and smiled crookedly, Clint felt a pleasant shiver run through him.

"I wouldn't think someone attempting to escape would stop for food, I," he paused running a hand through his thick curls. Clint was sure Bruce had probably seen him shaking, trying not to break down, he was thankful he didn't mention it. "Are, are you feeling better?" Bruce had a unsure, slightly worried look on his face.

"I've never really liked hospitals," he murmurs in explanation, perching on the edge of the table. It felt heavy and sturdy beneath him, grounding. "I... They have this haunted feel to them... I. It's hard to describe," Clint frowns before taking a bite of his sandwich.

Bruce studies him for a few moments in total silence. He turns to get the tea kettle, fills it, and sets it on the stove without a word. His brown eyes back to searching Clint's face. All the blonde wants is to find eat his food, go find somewhere quiet, and preferably high and hard to get to. He wants to rest, hide away to lick his wounds by himself.

"It wasn't your fault," Bruce's voice is quiet and Clint's jaw clenched. That was the furthest thing from the truth, he scrubbed his hand through his hair.

"Yes, it’s always my fault, I always end up in his clutches and to a degree I look forward to being his pet." Clint stares at the floor, not willing to look up. "I know what happens, what to expect. I know that he always lies, there's always pain. Its expected, each and every time, but... I... It’s like being free," he swallows thickly, before he forces his eyes shut. "I know the pain is coming, I know I shouldn't look forward to it but in some sick way I do, and its fucked up and I can't help it."

"You feel like it’s the only time you aren't expected to fight, to be willing to fight?" Bruce is leaning back against a counter, not looking the least bit surprised at his words. But then again, he is the angel of death, he knows about pain, sees it every day.

Clint nods, picking at his sandwich before taking a bite and chewing slowly. The kettle whistles and Bruce moves to make two mugs. A sad smile tugs at Clint's lips.

"You don't want to fight anymore, you aren't alone there," he starts, licks his lips, then adds honey and lemon to his tea. "Sugar?"

"And lemon," he nods, offering a slight smile and a quiet thank you as Bruce hands him a mug. "I'm not who everyone expects me to be anymore, haven't been in a very long time," he sips at the tea, savoring the warmth.

"I don't think Michael realizes that, that none of us are who we were back then," Bruce sips his own tea as Clint takes in the words. Let's them sink in.

"I can't do it again, that battle nearly killed me," the silver winged angel shivers and takes another sip, slowing un-chilling from the inside out. "I can't pick up that sword again, I won't."

Bruce's hand touches his shoulder as he leans forward, warmth spreads throughout him, his eyes slip shut. It’s such a change from living with only Lucifer's touches, so much better. Pleasantly warm, alive.

"No one expects you to," the brunette's voice is calming, quiet in the large kitchen before he lets out a sigh. "I just hope it doesn't come to a giant battle this time."

"I don't think that's what he has planned, not for this," Clint breathes out as Bruce pulls his hand away. Clint doesn't speak for a while, enjoying his tea and the unusual feeling of being safe. Bruce's voice startles him from his little trance.

"If you're tired, there's an extra room, I could show you," Bruce offers as he stands up completely, and a proper smile crosses the blonde's face.

"I'd like that," he abandons his half eaten sandwich, but still clutching the tea. He follows Bruce, neither of them speaking until they reach the room. But its comfortable, strangely familiar, safe.

"It's kind of... Extravagant, considering, Tony, er, Gabriel, but," he opens the door for him and Clint's eyes widen. It's far larger than the place he'd been living in when Lucifer grabbed him. A few of his things already in place, he'd have to thank Natasha.

"I... It's, wow," he really can't think of a better way to actually word his thoughts. He kicks off his boots, pads barefoot over a plush rug.

"It’s better than anywhere I've stayed in a long time," he admits, perching on the edge of his bed, before sprawling out backwards. It’s soft but firm and it's perfect.

"I'll jus-"

"Wait, could, could you stay?" Clint hates how unsure he sounds as he sits up, his eyes wide, pleading silently.

"I, okay."


	6. Chapter 6

Bruce swallowed thickly, his eyes watching Clint's face. The blonde had curled against his side in his sleep, his face buried into his chest. The years of stress, worry and abuse fading from his brow, leaving the other angel looking peaceful, younger even.

A sad smile crossed the brunette's face as Clint tugged at his shirt, murmuring quietly in his sleep. He reached out, brushing strands from his face. He seemed so restless, even when he was out cold. He saw a fading bruise high on the blonde's temple and frowned, touching it gently.

Clint whimpered, pulling away jerkily as his eyes blinked open. Gray blue orbs widened, a silent whimper passing his lips. He looked so unsure, lost. It made Bruce's heart ache to see that expression on the blonde angel.

"Sorry," Bruce apologized before the words could even pass Clint's lips. "I didn't mean to wake you, I-I should go," Bruce quickly untangled himself as Clint sat, blinking, silent and stunned.

"No, I, I just," he shook his head, his fingers twitching in the sheets, wanting to reach out, but so very unsure.

Bruce swallowed as he stood, he really wasn't even sure why he'd remained in the first place. Why he felt so drawn to protect the blonde.

"Please?"

Clint sounded so broken, it made Bruce freeze in place. His eyes took in the blonde, who stared up at him with wide eyes. A haunted shadow glassing them over and the brunette sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I," Clint was biting down on his lip, his shoulders hunched up, those silver wings wrapping around himself. He kept his gaze on a fixed spot on the mattress. "I don't want to be alone, I can't..." Clint shook his head as he trailed off.

"I'm not the best person for-"

"I feel safe," his voice barely a whisper, not lifting his gaze. "Please, just a while longer?"

Clint hated begging like this, it made him feel weak, helpless. But there was something about the dark winged angel that soothed him, made him feel warm and safer than he had in ages. He didn't want to glance up, fearing to see the look on Bruce's face, scared to see if pity crossed his features, softening the creases of worry.

He wrapped his arms around his knees, pulling in on himself. He didn't expect the brunette to stay, he didn't know why he had in the first place. No one stayed, he was damaged, broken because of Lucifer.

"You don't need to, I understand," he forced himself to close his eyes. He wasn't going to let himself shake apart, he'd pull himself together on his own, just like he always did. He didn't expect the bed to dip, or the soft touch to his wrist.

"Hey, hey, I'll stay, just don't," he coaxed Clint's chin up, attempting to get him to look at him. The blonde clenched his jaw, pointedly not meeting the other's eyes. Bruce could see him fighting with himself inwardly, trying not to lean into his touch.

"I don't want pity," Clint mumbled, attempting to pull away. Bruce's other hand came up, cupping his cheek, his breath hitched and his eyes flickered up.

"I won't pity you, Clint," dark wings twitched, drawing Clint's gaze. Bruce smiled softly, a sadness clinging to his dark eyes as he pulled Clint into his arms.

"I'll stay," his voice was quiet, soothing. Clint leaned into his touch, craving more of that warmth he so desperately craved.

Clint bit back a whine, clinging to the brunette's shirt. It felt like a lifeline, keeping the blonde grounded. Clint made a quiet noise in the back of his throat, he felt like he was drowning.

Bruce breathed out quiet soothing words, calming him like he would any scared child. The blonde angel let out a low whine and the brunette carded his fingers through the blonde locks.

"I've got you, you're safe," he murmured, wrapping his wings around the other angel. "It's okay now," he rocked them back and forth, as Clint shook apart in his arms.

"I hate this," Clint's voice was quiet, thick with emotion. His eyes met Bruce's and the dark wing angel could see the pain, sadness and misery lurking beneath the surface. "I can't be what I was made to be," he breathed it out sounding so loud between the two of them.

Bruce shushed him, pulling him even closer. Clint buried his face into his throat, uttering 'I can't' over and over against his skin.

"Shh, shh," he stroked through his hair gently, holding him closer as he felt the tears come.

"I've got you, shh, its okay," he kept his voice a whisper, holding on to Clint until he quieted to near silent whimpers, the shaking slowly stopping.

"I've got you."


	7. Chapter 7

Clint stared over at the wall blankly, Bruce's heart beating evenly beneath where his head rested on his chest. The blonde watched the sunlight flicker and stretch slowly up the wall. He felt numb, emotionless, completely and utterly broken. A soft noise passed his lips and Bruce's arms tightened, pulling him even closer against his chest. Clint sighed, his eyes flickering up to the brunette's face, he had held him through the night as he shook apart. Held him close, even now, even in his sleep, trying to protect the blonde. But all Clint wanted to know was why? Why would someone care now? After all these years, why? He was broken, a waste of space even. He frowned, he couldn't figure it out.

"Stop that," Bruce's voice was quiet and Clint blinked. He hadn't even realized, Bruce smiled, his brown eyes watched him curiously. "You want to talk?" Clint was thrown off at that, not someone asking if he was okay, but asking if he wanted to talk. It was different.

"No, I..." he shook his head, pulling out of those arms that made him feel warm and safe. "Do you remember what everything was like before?" Bruce blinked, sitting up at the question. That wasn't something he expected. He nodded, not speaking. "Do you miss that? Miss home?" Clint's voice was quiet, his eyes watching dust motes dancing in the sunlight. Bruce swallowed, watching how Clint sat almost motionless, his eyes trailing a mote before picking another to follow. He seemed so much younger in the early morning light, everything lighter, brighter, except for those eyes. They held so many emotions, none of which ever showed on his face. A fire that seemed to lurk right under the surface.

"I do and I don't," Bruce frowned slightly. "It was simpler then, but..." he shook his head. Clint's gazed turned to him, flickering over his face.

"That's when everything started, before..." Clint bit his lip, his eyes falling to his hands. "Before he fell, before the war," his voice was so quiet. Bruce remembered the war, seeing the death, the destruction. He hadn't wanted anything to do with it even then. He felt Clint's gaze return to his face. "We were... Lovers, to a degree," Clint's brow creased as he thought of his next words. "I adored him, he was the only one who gave me the time of day back then, and I suppose he was drawn to me in some weird way..." Clint licked his lips, his head falling forward, just slightly. "He would have me sing for him, he'd call me his little songbird, he'd praise me and kiss me. He'd always come seek me out after he'd returned from some outing or another," Clint paused, his jaw clenching. "I loved it, I loved him even, of course I loved him then. He would come distract me from my studies, which Michael would always scold me for later," a sad smile crossed his face at that. "I was his, I would do anything for him," the blondes voice broke and he swallowed thickly, shaking his head. "I think he knew that too, I became his obsession and I..."

Bruce watched the blonde struggle, his silver wings wrapping around himself as he shivered. Bruce remained silent, biting at his lip as he listened. 

"I didn't care what he did, he could do no wrong in my eyes, but I was young then, naive. Still in one piece," sad gray eyes glanced up at Bruce. "I've been broken and put back together so many times by just his hands alone, I can't even remember it sometimes. I crave the pain because it means I forget, just a little bit." Clint wanted to say more, explain in more detail why he wasn't worth anyone's effort, but he couldn't make himself. His throat was thick from holding back tears and words that wouldn't form.

"Clin-" Bruce was cut off as Clint crawled back into his arms. His face buried in his chest once again.

"Don't, don't say it, I don't want to hear any of it, please," Clint's voice was on the edge of being hysterical and Bruce nodded, rubbing circles on the base of his spine.

"I won't say it," he confirmed, letting the broken angel cling to him, grounding him to something solid. Clint didn't know why, couldn't even comprehend why he trusted the other angel so completely. It terrified him, made him want to hold tighter and pull away at the same moment. A soft knock at the door before it was pushed open, red hair and a soft smile. Clint slowly pulled away, looking up at Bruce. Natasha stepped into the room, a tray of food in her hands as the door closed behind her quietly. Her steps were quiet, careful as always. Clint offered a slight smile as she sat the tray at the end of the bed. Her pale green eyes turned to Bruce for a moment.

"I thought you both might want to eat something in silence before 'Steven' wants to talk to you," her eyes went back to Clint's face, her own normally composed expression softened. "I'm glad you're back, Clint, I missed you," she spoke quietly, her hand touching his shoulder briefly. A smile tugged at her lips before she turned, leaving the room as quietly as she'd entered. Clint looked more at ease, slightly more calmed and sure of himself. Clint looked up at Bruce again. A slight smile lighting his face, one Bruce returned as they ate in near silence. The blonde resting his head on the brunette's shoulder.

"Thank you," Clint uttered as he picked at what was left on the tray. "For not freaking out, for staying," he smiled before popping a blueberry in his mouth.

"No one should have to deal with their demons alone."


	8. Chapter 8

Clint shifted uncomfortably, flinching every time Michael raised his voice. The silver winged angel tried to make himself as small as he could, wishing he was invisible. He ached everywhere, his bruises still fading slowly. But of course it was always business first with the white winged angel.

The soldier was pacing back and forth, asking him what had he been thinking, why had he joined Lucifer, why turn on them, the same old thing. Every single time. Clint forced his eyes shut, head hanging slightly.

"I'm sorry," his voice was quiet and the tall, perfectly built angel paused, watching him a moment. Clint didn't dare lift his head, but he let his eyes open, watching as he started pacing again. He heard the sigh, like he was the tired one. Clint bit his lip wanted to snap at him.

"You are one of us, why do you always do this?" Michael's voice was disappointed, and that was something the younger angel had heard far too many times from him. It hurt, Clint wasn't like him, never was. He never will be, but that's all Michael wants, isn't it?

Clint hunched his shoulders, he had, had far too much of this. It had happened far too many times in the past, he always got chewed out, punished. He swallowed, breathing in and out slowly. He couldn't take this again.

"Uriel, are you even liste-"

"It's Clint," he uttered irritably, a frown creasing his brow. He couldn't deal with any of Michael's lecturing right now. "I haven't been Uriel in a long time, 'Steven', and you damn well know that," his voice defensive, slightly hurt.

"I'm not one of your soldiers, I can't do it anymore," he was shaking, he was aware of his voice raising. But he couldn't care, he couldn't do this. Any of it anymore. "You don't get it, you never do, but I won't," his voice ended up cracking. "I can't, fight."

"You will always be U-"

"What about me then, Michael? Do you still see me as Raphael?" Bruce's voice came from the doorway, behind him was Gabriel, a disappointed look on his face.

The taller blonde opened his mouth but closed it again, his blue eyes darkening a moment. He turned, facing Bruce, his brow creased.

"That's different, you didn't have a choice, Bruce, things were changing so fast then," he heard Gabriel let out a growl and he turned his eyes to the other brunette, who had pushed pass Bruce to get at the blonde.

Clint's eyes moved between Bruce, Michael and Gabriel. He tried to focus, but all he could hear was his own breathing. He forced his eyes shut. What was wrong with him? What had Lucifer done to him?

"Gab-"

"It's Tony, and don't take that tone, with anyone again. You may be the oldest, but this is 'my' tower," Tony's fists clenched as he faced off against the blonde.

"Don't you ever mention a word about Bruce's past, do you think he wanted any of this?," Tony's voice had dropped to a dangerously low tone, his eyes flashing in anger.

The blonde's eyes were narrowed, but he set his jaw, nodding. Tony huffed, his eyes going to Clint, who had slid to the floor. His shoulders hunched, his eyes forced shut as he rocked slightly.

Bruce stood frozen in the doorway, his expression pained for a moment. He pushed passed both of them, kneeling in front of the silver winged blonde. Both Tony and Michael's expressions softened when they saw his shaking.

"I can't, I can't," his voice sounded so broken. Bruce hushed him, his hands stroking his hair. "I can't do it," he clung to Bruce, needing to ground himself.

He wasn't doing this, not again. He felt broken, unable to sort his emotions this time. It was as if Lucifer had flipped all the switches in his brain, re-wired him and made him even more unstable than he had already felt.

"Shh, you don't have to fight, we won't make you," Bruce's voice calm. Clint was aware of Tony and Micheal's eyes, but he just breathed in Bruce's scent. Drank in the warmth, grounding himself in it.

"I'm here, I've got you, just relax, breath," Clint slowly pulled away, his eyes still shut. Bruce's hands stopped, he could feel those dark brown eyes on his face. When he managed to open his eyes he looked up at the brunette with a confused frown, he was Raphael before he was Ezekiel?

"What?" Clint frowned, shaking his head. He felt dizzy, nothing quite connecting the way it should. Like his brains had been replaced with cotton. "I..." he swallowed, frowning again. He saw Bruce's jaw clench.

"Shh, just relax," he shot a look at Michael as Clint clung to him again. The soldier's own jaw clenched as he nodded and left silently. Tony shot them a worried look before following.

"What was that?" Clint's voice was tired, slow, and so unsure. The brunette swallowed, running fingers through his hair, making the blonde sag against him.

"That was a long time ago, it doesn't matter now," he could feel Clint's breath on neck, tickling as he let out a hum of acknowledgement as sleep started overtaking his senses.

"It doesn't matter," Bruce repeated, holding the blonde closer. "It doesn't matter."


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I know I suck for not updating in like a year. But it's been quite a crazy year so yeah... I'm sorry here you go.

Soft touches, soothing words and fingers carding through his hair. Clint's eyes blinked open slowly, this was nice, surprisingly so even. He watched Bruce for a few moments. How could anyone be so kind, so gentle and patient with him. Bruce smiled softly at him as the blonde angel sat up slowly. He could see all of the emotions hidden away in the recesses. Pain, sorrow, so much sadness. Bruce had seen so much, yet he was here in one solid piece. Grey blue eyes, taking in all of the brunettes features. How can he be so good to Clint? He was broken, had been too many times to be put back together. At least in his own opinion, but here in Bruce's arms he thought differently. The brunette grounded him, kept him sane. Safe. In one piece.

"You don't have to tell me what happened," he didn't mean to say that, he honestly hadn't. He feels Bruce tense and he regrets it even more. He hears the other angel sigh and he pulls back to sit on his knees. His eyes searching Bruce's face, the brunettes own searching his.

"I want to, I..." Bruce shakes his head, a sad smile on his lips. Both of his hands cradle Clint's face making the blonde sigh. "I just can't, not yet," his voice is quiet as he watches the blonde. "When the time is right, I promise," he leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead before sitting back. Clint keeps his eyes shut, savoring the feeling for a moment. When he does finally open his eyes the dark winged angel is watching him. Clint moves forward before he knows what he's doing, pressing their foreheads together with a sad smile.

"You don't have to," he repeats, curling himself against the other. Dark green and black wings wrap around him, he feels so safe, warm. Protected.

"How do you do it? Stay so patient, caring?" Clint's voice quiet, as he pulls back to watch Bruce's face. Clint can see how tired he is, his age showing through in those eyes. Bruce is so very old, older even than Clint. But so very kind and patient with him, never raising his voice, always so gentle.

"I believe everyone needs some kindness in their lives, Clint," he's seen so much, but so had the blonde. They were so alike, in so many ways. "But the saddest, loneliest people are always the kindest," a sad smile on his face as the silver winged angel curls close, his face hidden in his chest.

"You don't have to be alone anymore," his voice is quiet and he shifts, laying so he can look up at the dark eyed angel from his lap. "I'm broken, but," he pauses, bright eyes lidding as he evens out his breath for a moment or two. "But you hold me together, make me feel warm and safe... Like I'm whole when I'm in your arms."

Bruce's fingers card carefully through dark blonde locks, and Clint let's his eyes open, watching. He doesn't know why it was so easy to get the words out, but it doesn't feel wrong to the archer. "I haven't felt safe in so long, Bruce."

"What did he do to you?" the question is quiet, but unsure in a way that makes Clint frown slightly. He wants to say that he wasn't always so bad, Lucifer was so good to him at one point. But he can't find his words, so instead he swallows and closes his eyes.

"Which time?," because there were honestly so many times now. He has lost track, can't believe how many times he's gone back. Because yes, he was so caring at one point, the only one who had paid him any attention then.

"How man-"

"Don't," Clint can't say because he doesn't think he can count all of them. "Too many, some worse than others," he swallows, looking up at Bruce with a sad smile. "He always finds me, somehow," he let's his eyes fall shut again.

"The first time?" Bruce's fingers distract him, as he thinks. It was so long ago. Lucifer with his bright smile and matching eyes. When he had still responded to Uriel. When he had still been innocent and sweet. He thinks now, that was what had drawn in the raven winged angel. An innocence he could not quite grasp, so he took it from him.

"It was so long ago," he sighs, relaxing under talented fingers. "I was so young then, I think that's what it was, that grabbed his attention, my innocence..." a shiver ran through silver wings. "Had never left the sanctuary, I think that's what had pulled me to him, how he would tell me of his adventures exploring, of Eden," a sad soft smile at memories that had been so long ago. "He was the only one who really ever noticed me then, the only time Michael would was when I'd done something wrong..."

"He's always been like that, it doesn't occur to him that someone may think differently," Bruce didn't sound exactly bitter, sad or angry, the tone too soft. He had dealt with him for so long, he was one of the oldest along with Gabriel. "The only one who has ever made him realize when to stop is Tony."

"I was always into something, always felt I was in the way, except when Lucifer," he paused, shaking his head. "Except when he would look at me, how he would actually spend time to listen to me."

"He gave me my first bow, which I took to better than even the sword I was made to bear," his voice broke off and he let Bruce pull him up into his arms. "He was the one who taught me to fight, along with Gabriel sometimes, it was nice then..." a soft sigh passed his lips and he shook his head. "That was before he got bad, if I hadn't been so naive then, maybe things would have been different."

"What happened?"

"I..." grey blue eyes screwed shut. He hadn't talked in so long to anyone except Natasha, hadn't anyone to trust, to actually listen. Images flashed across his eyelids and he tensed. He breathed out, his throat tightened for a moment before nodding, more for his benefit than anything.

"I should start from the beginning, but I don't remember, I remember when I first noticed it, I don't know how no one else did..." he remembered the pain, how he hadn't had anyone else he could talk to. "I... I wish someone had, maybe things would have been different then..."


	10. Chapter 10

Bruce had listened and he hadn't judged, he had just held Clint close to him and pressed kisses softly to his forehead and cheeks. The blond just let the brunette pull him closer, soothing and quiet. He blinked looking at the brunette with a sad smile. "The thing is, no matter how much he hurt me, I always went back," he looked down at his hands and let out a sigh. "Because even with the pain, he was still the only one who cared," he forced his eyes shut, he could tell he was shaking. "And as it got worse, I went back, each time, because I expected the pain, craved it." He looked down at his hands again, as if everything he was saying was written upon his skin. The blonde looked up, gray blue eyes meeting brown for just a moment. Clint shook his head, thinking of the right words. "I craved the pain, because it meant I was alive, that I was feeling something, that I wasn't numb," he bit his lip seeing the sadness that comment left on Bruce's face. "I had felt numb for so long after the war, because of what he'd done, the scars he left me with."

"Clint," he had opened his mouth to speak and the blond shook his head. He wasn't finished, he had to tell him everything that happened then. Show him the scars that he was left with, even now.

"He knew my weaknesses then, how I would fight, he..." Clint swallowed thickly, his eyes screwed shut. "I had never felt that kind of pain before, or since, I thought I was dying," Clint's voice was so quiet. "I wanted to die, just so it would be over with," he whispered, his shoulders hunching slightly. The silver winged angel pulled away from Bruce, his hands shaking as he removed his shirt. He felt Bruce watching him as he turned, baring his back to his gaze. He heard the gasp, felt the tentative fingers run down the scar between his shoulder blades. Trail up over the base of his wings, the scars that surrounded them.

"That's why you won't pick it up," Bruce's voice was quiet as took in the scars, tracing them with his fingertips. Clint shivered, his wings extending and the brunet felt his stomach drop. "Your wings," he breathed out, seeing how thick dark scars covered them up to where his feathers started to grow out. "What did he do to you?" Clint let his head drop, let the angel with dark green and black wings pull him against him. He couldn't find his voice, couldn't even think of what he would say, how he would get the words out. He let Bruce hold him close, felt him press soft kisses to the base of his neck, between his shoulder blades. Felt whispers of words unheard against his flesh and feathers. Warmth spread through him and he let out a quiet gasp, his wings ruffling. Bruce pulled away, his lips pressing one more kiss to the base of his neck.

"Bruce, what," he tried to turn, to see what he had done. The brunet shook his head, pulling him back against him, holding him close. "Bruce?"

"Shh, it's alright," he breathed out and allowed Clint to turn in his arms. The blonds forehead pressed against his, noses touching just slightly. "You don't need to be alone anymore," he breathed and Clint let out his own quiet laugh, a smile on his lips as he pulled back to watch the brunette. The archers hands came up, cupping his face, tilting him up to meet his eyes. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. He pulled away, his eyes shut as he took in all the lingering sensations. Bruce was the first to open his eyes, deep brown orbs taking in how the blonde practically glowed, a soft content smile on his lips. Bruce felt his own smile tugging at his lips as the silver winged angels eyes opened, shining brighter than he had ever seen. He seemed lighter, like years, so many years of pain had vanished.

"I, thank you," his voice was quiet, slightly unsure. He felt more together, not quite a solid piece yet, but better. Like he wouldn't shake apart in the darkness of night. The scars that were on his soul, on his skin faded, not weighing him down. The secrets he had kept inside so long, some that even Natasha hadn't known, out in the open. But he still felt wounds, some deeper than others, harder to get rid of but maybe Bruce could help, and he would try to help Bruce with his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um hello everyone I'm sorry I haven't updated this in ages, life just hasn't been the best for me this past year or so and mixed with writer's block I just kinda left things untouched so don't hate me? I had planned on leaving this with this chapter and wring a next part but I didn't quite finish things up the way I like and I might attempt that in another few chapters. I would appreciate some comments/suggestions since I'm a bit rusty writing wise. I also have a few bits that tie in with this that I'll be posting. I love all of you.

**Author's Note:**

> Also a quick run down since I switch back and forth between names. All Angels have a given name and a second name that they choose. Their given names is who they are meant to be and their chosen names are who they want to be basically.  
> Lucifer=Loki  
> Uriel=Clint  
> Raziel=Natasha  
> Michael=Steve  
> Gabriel=Tony  
> Ramiel=Thor  
> Ezekiel=Bruce*  
> *The only exception to this rule is Bruce, but you'll find out the reasons behind that later on.


End file.
